“Let us, Adair, not make any rash decisions just yet. Both of us have heavy obligations we are sworn to fulfill. Let us spend these days together, as we may.”
He smiled at her. He did not mention it, that her begging him to stay with her had been a rash and mayhap unfair action. He merely reached out and brushed her hand with his battered fingers.
“Aye then, Bradana. I have no quarrel over spending my time with ye.”
Chapter Fifteen
Days passed andAdair healed. Everyone left him alone, save Bradana and Wen. Despite what Kendrick had told Bradana, he did not make an effort to talk with Adair. Whether or not he did speak with his two wild-headed sons, Bradana could not tell him.
Bradana.She filled his days and haunted his nights. He did dream of her, lying alone in his narrow bed—of kisses they’d not yet shared. Of other pleasures as yet untasted. How could he know how it felt to kiss her, when he never had?
It was as if he’d lain with her already, even though he had not. His body knew the heat of hers, the willingness with which she would come to him. It had him in a state of near-constant arousal.
But he did not touch her and she did not touch him, save for the merest brush of hands when they passed one another a cup or played at draughts. In truth, Adair felt afraid to touch her, the response was so bright.
He only guessed she felt the same.
They grew acquainted with one another on a far more ordinary basis during those days. He learned what made her laugh, how swift and clever was her mind, and how well she guarded her emotions with everyone but him. They sat long together and, as he healed, walked far up the shore. She showed him her Alba, the land she loved.
She played the harp for him.
The first time she brought the instrument to his sleeping place, he thought it looked odd in her hands, a harp being so often a man’s instrument. Save for Forba, back home, he had never known another woman to touch one.
That was before she began to play.
She possessed a rare talent, did Bradana, one that transported him. From the first gleaming notes, she lifted his heart and his spirit. As if the music gave him wings that carried him to another place and time, he traveled.
“I did not know ye played,” he whispered after that first time, unwilling to break the spell she had woven. “In Erin—”
“In Erin?” She lifted a brow.
“I was learning to play because I so loved the sound.”
She put the harp aside. “Is that not an odd thing for us to have in common?”
“I do not play a touch as well as ye. ’Tis magic when ye touch these strings.”
“I play Alba,” she confessed. “The hiss and chuckle of the water. The wind in the forest. The very heartbeat o’ the land.”
“It has a heartbeat?”
“Och, aye.”
How could he thus ask her to leave here with him? Become an exile from her beloved land for his sake? Even though it had become the dearest wish of his heart.
“I began playing many years ago because my mother fancied it. ’Tis one o’ the few things to please her when she is in a foul temper.”
“I can see why. ’Twould please me to lie here so wi’ my eyes closed and listen for as long as ye will play.”
“For ye, Adair, I would play as long as ye wished—till my fingers bled.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
Before the feelings could grow too intense, she asked far more lightly, “Who was teaching ye to play, back in Erin?”
“A lass called Forba.”
“Och, aye?” Bradana crooked a brow. “And should I be concerned about this Forba? What is she to ye?” She lowered her voice. “Ye said ye had no lover.”
